Lior didn't sleep much after the red string reappeared. He spent the night tossing and turning, clutching the thread between his fingers, wondering if he was being manipulated… or protected. The fine red silk was warm against his palm, like it held a heartbeat of its own.
He didn't throw it away.
The apartment was quiet the next morning. Too quiet.
Lior stepped out of the bedroom and found the living room empty. Kitchen untouched. Aven's blanket folded neatly on the couch, but no trace of him in sight. No note. No warmth in the air.
Lior should've been relieved.
He wasn't.
He spent an hour pacing, waiting for the click of the door, the familiar sound of silent footsteps. Nothing. He tried painting again—he couldn't. Not without thinking of silver eyes. Of quiet smiles. Of warmth that came from nowhere and wrapped around his ribs like a second skin.
By afternoon, Lior was tense with frustration. He hated how the silence felt wrong. He hated himself more for missing the presence of someone who shouldn't exist.
He went looking.
The sun was high as he wandered the city. The bookstore woman wasn't there. The market was too crowded. He passed rooftops and alleyways, looking up when he should've been looking down.
By dusk, it started raining.
He sat on a bench at the edge of a quiet park, soaked and shivering. He should go home. He should.
But he didn't.
Instead, he whispered to the wind, "You said you'd wait. So where are you now?"
The answer came not in words, but in the shift of air behind him.
A coat draped over his shoulders.
Lior flinched, but didn't look back. He knew who it was.
"I was watching," Aven said quietly.
"You said you'd be here."
"You asked me to go."
"I didn't ask for the silence."
The rain poured harder, drumming against leaves.
Lior clutched the coat tighter. "Why do you act like you care about what I want, but still do what you want?"
Aven sat beside him, but left space. For the first time.
"I don't know how to love like a human," he said. "I only know you. What you paint. What you fear."
"I fear you."
"I know."
Lior turned. "Then why do you stay?"
"Because I want to change that."
The words hit harder than they should've. Simple. Honest. No games. Aven wasn't perfect—far from it. But there was something raw about the way he admitted his faults.
"Do you remember anything from… before me?" Lior asked.
Aven was quiet for a moment. Then, "Only feelings. A throne. Betrayal. Fire. Then silence. Like I was sealed away in glass. Until your brush touched my name."
"I never said your name before."
"But I knew when you painted me that last time. You meant it. Aven. That's when I began to feel."
Lior bit his lip. "You're not just a creation, are you?"
Aven looked at him. "Would you be angry if I wasn't?"
Lior didn't answer. His hand drifted to the red string in his pocket.
"I don't want to belong to anyone," he said.
"I know," Aven whispered. "But I want to belong to you anyway. And if that means standing beside you instead of claiming you, I will."
Lior blinked at him. Slowly.
The rain began to lighten.
"You talk like you've been reading poetry."
"I found a stack of your old sketchbooks. You write in the margins."
"You read those?!"
Aven gave a small, amused smile. "I couldn't help it. You talk to your art. Like it's alive."
Lior flushed.
They sat in silence until the clouds parted and the streetlights flickered on.
When they stood, Aven held out his hand.
Lior hesitated.
Then placed his fingers in his.
---
Back at the apartment, Lior let Aven dry his hair with a towel. He sat still, cross-legged on the couch, while Aven knelt behind him.
"You're so quiet now," Lior murmured.
"I don't want to scare you anymore."
"You already did. But I'm still here."
The towel stilled.
Aven leaned closer, lips brushing just behind Lior's ear. "Then maybe I'll let myself be happy for a moment."
Lior didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"You're cold," Aven said.
"So are you."
"I wasn't… until you left this morning."
Lior finally turned to face him. "You can't say things like that. It messes with my head."
Aven nodded, gaze lowered. "Then let me say this instead: I'll stop watching when you don't want me to. I'll give you time. I'll learn how to love you right."
"And if I never love you back?"
"I'll still stay."
Lior stood and left the room. But this time, he didn't lock the door.
---
That night, he dreamed.
Of a silver-eyed boy standing in fire.
A burning throne.
A knife in his back.
Chains of red silk binding his wrists, glowing with ancient magic.
A voice whispered: Find the brush that cursed me. Break the binding. Free me fully… and I will be yours forever.
Lior woke up gasping.
Aven stood in the doorway, breath caught, as if he'd felt it too.
"You dreamed of it," he said softly. "The before."
Lior pressed his palm to his chest. His heart wouldn't stop racing.
"What are you?"
"I don't know," Aven replied. "But you're the key."
He stepped into the room. "And I think… someone's trying to take that key away."
---
End of Chapter 4